


when it rains

by dickiegreenleaf



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, pov you are an old retired farmer but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickiegreenleaf/pseuds/dickiegreenleaf
Summary: It's been years since Dan and Phil retired to the countryside, where the world is softer and sharp edges are rounded. But even here it rains.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 53





	when it rains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sierraadeux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/gifts).



> sierra went to sleep and i needed a reason to not do work :D lov u, hope u enjoy a leetle bit of farmboys

Phil wakes an absolute mess, with warm pillows resting on his chest, between his legs, on the floor—everywhere except for under his head. The dull roar of rain whipping against the side of the house begs him to go back to sleep, to toss aside the small feeling of something amiss besides just a pillow to support his head. Phil hums a soft groan as he submits to the urge. He closes his eyes again and turns away from the window, as if that could somehow blunt the hiss of raindrops against the glass. He flings a sleep-warm hand across the bed, wanting to hold Dan’s bicep to comfort him in the morning storm like a child might hold a teddy bear. He’s met with cold sheets instead.

Suddenly, sleep seems like a less appealing option than getting up. It’s rare for Dan to wake up before Phil these days, unless he’s in a particularly good mood or in a particularly rotten one. Phil wouldn’t want to be absent for either, and he knows with Dan’s recent behaviour he’s been heading toward the latter.

Phil untangles his legs from the mess of pillows and sheets, plucks his glasses off the bedside table, and sits up on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the weather happening outside the window. Something about waking up to morning storms takes him back to their days in London, when every storm seemed louder and longer and darker. Since their move to the countryside almost three years ago, everything has seemed softer—the weather, Phil’s tummy, Dan’s hands. Since storms meant watering the small garden Phil keeps rather than just piquing some kind of melancholy within Dan. With an empty bed so early in the morning, Phil feels that the London breed of storm might be paying them a visit.

Phil’s drags his socked feet through the hallways of their house, peeking sleepily into the lounge, the kitchen, Dan’s office. It doesn’t take him long to realize Dan’s vacated the main house. Their move to the countryside was certainly a downgrade in house size from London, albeit an upgrade in every other aspect. They’d opted for spacious greenery and rolling hills rather than three separate lounges, and neither had regretted the switch for a moment. The house was fairly old, with wooden stairs that creaked under their feet and heating that sometimes acted up in the winter. But it came with miles of land, a barn to renovate, and storms that didn’t usually sting as bad as those in the city. 

The barn renovation was one of the first things they’d done when they’d made the move. They both went about it in their own way—Dan, diving into home renovation and woodworking YouTube videos. Phil, obsessively researching what the fluffiest cows were. After months of painting and building and splinters and petty arguments, they’d finished the barn. It hadn’t needed too much love, and Dan insisted on preserving its “rustic beauty”, but neither of them could deny that it now stood as the crown jewel of their home. 

Phil pulls on the pair of boots sitting by their back door and grabs his jacket off the hook, staring through the screen at their labour of love. It’s days like this that Phil’s glad for the metal roof they’d installed and all the wood staining they’d done, much as he had bemoaned it during the restoration. He would be even more grateful if they’d installed some sort of path, as well, so that his feet don’t immediately begin squelching in the mud as exits the back door. 

The rain isn’t quite as aggressive as it had sounded when Phil woke up, but he still gets soaked on the short walk out to the barn. By the time he reaches the door, his hair is plastered to his forehead like some bastardized imitation of the horrible haircuts he insisted on in his younger years. It’s now peppered with more grey than not, and he’s rather accustomed to having it pushed out of his face. The feeling of hair on his forehead is rather alien after all these years. 

Standing in front of the barn, he notes the door is cracked. It’s an invitation if ever there was one, so Phil doesn’t feel any guilt marching in. He immediately exults the welcome change in temperature. Inside the barn, the air is warm but humid, as it’s not entirely insulated from the rain. The rain clatters against the metal roof, sounding louder than ever, and he’s surprised the animals aren’t scared by the noise. Phil’s almost scared by it himself. 

He pushes his rain-soaked hair out of his eyes and scans the barn for a stowaway. Dirt and hay crunch under his feet as he walks up to Beetroot in her stall. 

Phil lifts a hand to her neck and strokes it down her soft black mane. “Hi, babe,” he whispers. Something about rain in the morning necessitates soft voices. “You seen Dan?”

Beetroot stares back at Phil with her dark eyes, then moves her neck in a way that could be taken as shaking her head “no” if one were particularly creative. Phil rolls his eyes.

“Liar,” he accuses sweetly. He scratches her behind her ear one last time, peeking into her stall to make sure Dan’s not hiding in there, before he turns to continue his search. 

“Pspspsps,” Phil calls, half-hoping the joke will bring Dan out of hiding. He’s glad the cats sleep in the main house, or else they’d be brushing up against his legs right now. He knows from experience. 

Phil whispers good morning to both their pigs, checking every stall for a secret Dan as he goes. The rain whips down hard as ever, and even Phil begins to get hit with a pang of sadness in this weather.

He finds Dan, finally, exactly where Phil knew he would be. He’s laying down in the soft hay, head propped up on Azula’s brown and white tummy, the cow’s own head resting on Dan’s chest. He seems so small compared to her, all curled up on the ground. It looks almost as if she’s holding him. Dan’s fast asleep, but Phil can see goose flesh raised up on his arms from his wet clothes. Trust Dan to go outside in only a t-shirt in the middle of a storm. 

Phil pulls off his coat, drapes it over his husband, and sits down on the hay next to them. He cringes slightly as he feels the damp ground through the thin cotton of his pyjama pants, but he forgets the feeling instantly as he lays back against Azula. He turns his head to watch the two of them as they snooze, both seeming content to sleep through the tail end of this storm. 

Phil feels a slight chill in his now-bare arms, so he nestles up closer to Dan. Azula’s always loved cuddling, and thankfully she makes a comfortable pillow. This is far from the first time the two of them have dozed off on her. 

Leaning over, Phil blows air softly against Dan’s closed eyes, his patience for not having Dan’s attention apparently worn thin. Dan’s eyes twitch as he wakes and then get screwed shut as his body registers the intrusion. 

Dan is met with Phil’s soft Dan smile when he flicks his eyes open, ready to bitch about being woken up, but the tenderness in Phil’s eyes melts away any complaints he might have had about the situation.

“Did you get lost on your way to the bathroom?” Phil whispers, smile growing.

Dan snorts. “No, I just prefer to do my shitting in Beetroot’s stall.”

Phil holds back his laugh, if not for some misplaced belief about the proper speaking volume for storms, then for Azula’s sake. “Mm, yeah, I’ve been thinking about getting rid of the toilet and just laying down some hay.”

“You’d honestly probably like that, you freak.”

At this, Phil does let out a giggle. “Yeah.”

Dan begins to smile the slightest bit, but Phil can tell there’s something off about his mood. It’s times like this when he curses the “basically” part of being “basically telepathic.”

“Are the cows better cuddlers than I am?” Phil jokes, hoping to pry some truth out of Dan.

“No,” Dan replies, tilting his head the slightest bit as he looks into Phil’s eyes. His own eyes are dull, emphasized by the purplish shadows underneath.

“Wanna talk about it?” Phil asks, wrapping a hand around one of Dan’s balled fists.

Dan turns his face into Azula’s belly. “Not really anything to talk about.”

Phil isn’t able to parse that. He knows that sometimes it’s just like that, that Dan’s just like this. And other times there’s something underlying that he could pry out with enough prodding. But Phil knows Dan prefers him not to press the issue, at least not immediately. So he lets it be.

Good days far outweigh the bad ones any more, and both of them have learned how to best deal with the bad ones. The bad ones still catch up with them, though, even out here in the countryside. 

Phil raises Dan’s hand, still balled into a fist, to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Nerd,” Dan whispers, letting his head droop down until it’s resting on Phil’s shoulder. His fist loosens.

The barn is filled with the sound of raindrops battering the roof, and everything outside is surely covered in mud, but for now, they sit dry inside this stall.


End file.
